


Misfit Toys

by kayteepotter7



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Asexuality, Eating Disorders, F/F, F/M, Gay, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbian, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Romance, Self-Harm, Suicide, Transgender
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-11 07:41:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3319487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayteepotter7/pseuds/kayteepotter7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Annabeth Chase is transgender, though her new boarding school won't accept her. She's totally head over heels in love with her roomate, Percy, who she becomes close with. But she has a deadly secret. Nico di Angelo is also caught in his self destructive ways, grieving the loss of his sister, and battling mental illness. Piper is caught in a downward spiral, picking up her father's drinking habits. Jason is struggling to accept himself as asexual after getting his best friend, Piper, pregnant. The new girl, Reyna, has spent her whole life building up walls, and Piper becomes determined to break them down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Percy's POV

I’m half asleep when the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen walks into our dorm with her hands full of luggage and a look like someone’s holding something smelly under her nose. She’s wearing a black sundress and her hair- which is this perfect blonde color- falls in waves down to her waist. Her jawline is set and her head is held high as she steps forward and looks around, taking in our already messy room. 

“Um, who are you?” my new roommate, Frank, asks in his thick canadian accent. He sets down his sports magazine and gets up from a lounging position on his bed. 

The girl swallows. She looks uncomfortable, but when she speaks, she speaks clearly. “I’m your new roommate.” 

My mouth drops open, but I’m too stunned to say what I’m thinking- which is somewhere along the lines of uh, what the hell? 

Nico, my other roommate, who’s by his dresser unpacking his suitcase, turns to get a better look at her. “Andrew Chase?” he asks, voice coated in disbelief. 

I sit up so quickly that I hit my head on the bunk above mine. 

I know that name.

And she seems to know me, too; her eyes widen at the sight of me. It’s not until I see their stormy grey color that I recognize him.

Well, her. 

She tears her eyes away and looks back to Nico who’s staring at her, holding a halfway folded shirt. “Annabeth,” she spits out as though it pains her to do so. “It’s Annabeth Chase.”

Nico seems to understand immediately; he nods and returns to folding his clothes. Frank, on the other hand, looks just as bewildered as I feel. On someone as big and burly as him, it’s almost comical. 

“I don’t understand,” he says. “Are you her sister or something?”

She shakes her head and opens her mouth to speak, but no words come. Nico looks at her with sympathy, but doesn’t seem to know if he should say anything. It dawns on me, what’s going on. My childhood best friend is standing before me, but this isn’t Andrew. Not anymore.

To be fair, she’s a lot prettier than he ever was. 

Finally, she speaks. “That’s me. Or, that’s my legal name.”

“Wait, what? You mean you’re…?”

Thankfully, Nico crumples up a t-shirt and throws it at Frank. That effectively shuts him up. 

Annabeth takes a deep breath and forces her head up higher. It makes her look a little bit intimidating, and I find myself trying to look smaller. “I’m trans, but the school refuses to consider me as female, so I guess you’re all stuck with me. Which bunk’s mine?”

Nico points to the only empty bunk in the room- the one above mine- and gives her a small smile. I think that’s the nicest I’ve ever seen him. I know him well enough, though, to see that he’s furious. Why, I couldn’t tell you. I don’t know him that well. 

I stand up clumsily as she walks towards me. She throws one of her bags on the bed and sets the others down on the floor. She crosses her arms and the glare she gives me makes me want to shrink and hide. “Do you need something?”

“An- Annabeth,” I say, trying out the name on my tongue. “Do you remember me?”

The question doesn’t surprise her, but she still seems reluctant to answer it.

She nods. “But I’m a different person now.”

Yeah, I see that. 

I met Andrew in kindergarten when our teacher sat us next to each other. She always used to sit a smarter kid next to a “slower” one, so that the smarter one could help the other. Andrew was the smart one, in this case. Actually, he was at the top of the class, even with ADHD and Dyslexia. I don’t actually remember much from that time period given that I was like, 5, but I do have this one specific memory from a day I fell asleep in class. 

I awoke with a start as I felt a poke in my side. I looked up to see Andrew pulling back his finger and staring at me. The rest of the class had their eyes trained on me, too, and they were laughing. My teacher sure wasn’t; she had hated me ever since she laid eyes on me. I mean, I guess I was a little hyperactive and hard to deal with.

She cleared her throat. “Eyes up here, please, children. Nancy, can you tell me what this says?” she asked, pointing at something on the board. 

I didn’t hear her response because I was distracted by the fact that Andrew’s stormy grey eyes were still boring into me.

“You drool in your sleep,” he said finally, and haughtily. 

We hated each other all of that year, and the next. I thought he was a know-it-all, and he thought I was annoying. Maybe we were both right. We didn’t actually become friends until the third grade when our teacher hated the both of us. We’re both Dyslexic, the only difference between us being that he was a genius and I’m not. Unfortunately, our teacher, Ms. Dobbs, thought we were both stupid, though, and constantly humiliated us. One day, though, we decided that we’d had enough, and came up with a plan to get back at her. I suggested putting a whoopee cushion under her chair; it’s a good thing he was much more strategic than I was. 

First, I asked my mom to pick up some candy from the shop she worked at. That’s what we used to bribe the other kids in out class. Given they were necessary to the success of the plan, Andrew wouldn’t even let me have one piece. It did work, though; when the other kids came in the next day, they all sat in the wrong seats. Except for Nancy Bobfit and her friends, of course. We ended up locking them in the closet. But don’t feel bad; they were all bullies, just like Ms. Dobbs. So anyways, that morning, when she walked in and saw all of us in the wrong spots, she started calling on kids looking for an explanation. None of us said anything. She called on us one by one, but we all just stared at her blankly. That is, until she called on Andrew, who had the brilliant idea to respond in complete gibberish. Soon, all 30 kids in the classroom were talking complete nonsense. Ms. Dobbs was left with no choice but to call the school principal for help. Fortunately for us, before class started Andrew and I had unplugged the phone and hid it in the closet with Nancy. As soon as Ms. Dobbs ran out of the classroom like a woman possessed, this kid Grover locked the door behind her. Then we made a break for it out of the back door. We ended up with like, at least 20 minutes of time on the playground before they found us. When they did, they ended up sending us home for the day anyways. 

Part of the deal with the other kids was that no one could tell anyone who was behind it. We even made sure that Nancy and her friends had no idea, so that Andrew and I couldn’t be blamed for it. Yeah, the class didn’t get recess for the rest of the week, but it was well worth it to see the look on Ms. Dobbs’ face.

Besides, she retired after the next day anyways, after I put a whoopee cushion on her chair, just for good measure.

After that little bit of mischief, Andrew and I became inseparable.

Well, until the 7th grade, that is. 

I’m jolted back to reality when Frank tells me that he’s going to meet his new mentor for lunch. He’s an exchange student from Canada, so he got paired up with someone from the leadership class who’s supposed to show him around the school. I nod at him distractedly, but Annabeth still holds my attention. She’s now standing by the only empty dresser in the room and folding her clothes before gently placing them in the open drawer. I note that she has sets of the male uniform. Anger bubbles up inside of me. She still stands tall, but I can see from here that her hands are trembling. Then it occurs to me that maybe we should give her some space.

“Hey, Nico,” I say. “I’m going to meet Jason for lunch. Wanna come?”

“Uh, no?” he begins, bewildered. “What are-”

I give him a pointed look and see the realization dawn on him. 

“Just come on,” I urge him.

I look over at Annabeth one more time as Nico and I head out the door, and to my surprises, see that she’s already looking at me. She seems confused, but grateful. I’m even more shocked when she mouths thank you before turning away.

Once outside, Nico is actually the first one to speak. “This is fucked up.”

As he says it, I realize just how furious he actually is. His face is a deep scarlet, and his fists are clenched. I place my hand on his back, but he pulls away.

“I know,” I say. “I know.”

“How do you know her?” he asks me as we walk along the path that leads to the school’s cafeteria.

“Oh. Uh- we were best friends. In elementary school.”

“Before she… transitioned?”

“Transitioned?”

“Yeah,” he says, struggling with his words. “Back when everyone thought that she was a he.”

“Oh. Yeah,” I respond. “I think even she thought that she was a he.”

“What happened?” he asks as he kicks a rock along the path. A squirrel darts across the sidewalk and up a tree when it sees us coming. 

I don’t know that I actually want to answer that question. I had kind of forced myself to forget about it until now, if I’m being honest. I end up telling him half of the truth: “She switched schools in seventh grade, and I never saw him again. Her!” I correct myself. “I never saw her again.”

We come to a stop in front of the huge cafeteria building. It still looks like a gym on the outside, because that’s what it was before the school got the funds to build a new gym. The old cafeteria got torn down and turned into a new set of dorms, and the old gym became the new cafeteria. 

“We have to do something to help her,” he says. “This isn’t right.”

And I agree. Of course I agree. But what can we do? The school is strict; it was only a few years ago that the girls got the right to wear pants to class. They still can’t wear makeup, either. The school did have to pass some rules last year to help out gay kids, after this one girl attempted suicide. Apparently, though, transgender kids are a completely different story. 

“We will,” I promise Nico. “But for now we just have to make sure that she’s as comfortable as she can be, rooming with three guys.”

He nods at me, but breaks his eye contact quickly. “I should go.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to eat with us?” I ask, though I know there’s no point.

“Nah,” he says, feigning nonchalance. “I promised that I’d meet up with some friends.”

We both know that he’s lying; he doesn’t have any friends.

But I let him walk away anyways.


	2. Nico's Point of View

I can feel Percy’s eyes on me as I walk away, but I cling to the hope that maybe, if I don’t acknowledge him, or the way his stare makes me feel so vulnerable, the feeling will go away.

It doesn’t. 

I keep walking in no particular direction until I feel certain that Percy can’t possibly still be watching me. When I turn to look, the spot in which he stood is empty, and I’m alone. Well, as alone as I can be in a boarding school full of students milling about. I make the other students uncomfortable, I know, but as long as I don’t pay attention to them, they don’t pay attention to me. I might as well be invisible. It’s only Percy and Hazel and their friends who feel bad that nobody gives a shit about me. 

Well, Hazel does. And I care about her too. I only distance myself from her to protect her, not me.

I continue walking along the sidewalk, heading to the square of buildings that holds the school’s classrooms. Classes don’t start until tomorrow, but that’s even better for me, because it means that nobody will be over there. I can slip in unnoticed. There’s a spot where I always go to be alone, which is important, when you’re a depressed introvert who shares a room with three other guys.

Well, I guess this year it’s two other guys and one girl. 

God, I can’t get over how fucked up that is. 

I can’t say that I know much about what it’s like for people like Annabeth, but there was a transgender kid at my middle school I used to eat lunch with, because nobody else would sit with us. We never really talked much, besides the games of Mythomagic we played over the school’s lame excuse for a healthy, well-balanced meal. Every morning, when we rode the bus together, he would be in pink dresses, or bedazzled skinny jeans, with bows in his hair and makeup on. As soon as we got to school, he’d beeline straight to the bathroom. When I saw him first period, he looked like himself. Like a boy. I still remember how he cried the day after his parents found out what he had been doing, how he would change his clothes as soon as he got to school, and I still remember the way the mascara he hadn’t taken off stained his cheeks. He told me that when he came out to his parents, they became determined to “fix” him. They were the ones responsible for the frilly clothes and long hair and makeup. He used school as a place away from his parents, where he could be himself. After that day, though, I never saw him again. 

To this day, besides my sister, he was the best friend I ever had.

But though I hate to admit it, the way the school’s treating Annabeth isn’t what’s getting to me right now. Instead, I’m stuck on the way Percy looked at her when she walked into the room with her perfect blonde hair and, well, perfect everything. I wish he would look at me like that. I try to focus on how big of an idiot he seemed; I almost thought his eyes might bulge out of his head. But if he’s an idiot for looking at a perfect girl like that, what does that make me?  
I accidentally walk past my destination- the very first door on the left building of the square- and have to turn around. I have to jiggle the doorknob because it’s grown sticky after all of these years, but eventually it swings open to reveal a dark and dusty scene. You can barely even tell that this used to be a classroom, except for the white board on the far wall, the green-and-white-checkered floor that all of the classrooms here have, and a few broken desks that have been pushed to the side. There’s also a rotting wooden bookcase sitting forgotten in the right corner by the door, that apparently no one deemed worth saving. On it sits a battery powered lantern, a flashlight, and a small stack of books. Those are mine; they got left here at the end of last year, because I spent the last few weeks of the semester in the hospital. I still have to make up my finals this week, unless I want to end up repeating the tenth grade.   
No thank you. I want to get out of this place as soon as possible. What comes after that? Who knows. 

I pick up my favorite book from the shelf- T.H. White’s The Once and Future King- and sit down on top of one of the sturdier desks. I lean against the wall, trying to make myself as comfortable as possible. I make a note to myself to bring a pillow next time. Then I open the book.

Before I start to read, I flip through the pages that are so familiar under my fingers. I can’t help but sniff them as they turn; there’s something comforting in the smell of a book so old and well-read. Well-read and well-loved. I turn back to the beginning, desperate to get Percy off of my mind. I quickly lose myself in its pages. I lose myself in the adventure, the romance, the bravery, the magic, and in all of the other wonderful things I once thought that life would be. Sure, there’s evil in these pages too, and betrayal, and pain, and treachery. But what is that to a Knight of the Round Table? To a magician? To a king?

Bianca and I used to read this with our parents when we were younger. Maybe that’s why I love it so much; it reminds me of a happier time, when life was good and I was good. But now my mom’s gone and Bianca’s gone and my dad seems like he’s barely here most days. And me? I’m still struggling to even get up in the morning. 

Of course, there’s still Hazel. Sweet, kind, caring Hazel who always looks at me with worried eyes and smiles at me like I’m not a fucked up 16 year old kid. But she’s got her own shit to deal with. She lost her mom more recently than I lost mine, and more recently than I lost Bianca. It was only last year that she had to come to live with my dad and I, her only living relatives, though we were strangers to her. He’s her dad, and I’m her half-brother, but before the death of her mom made her an orphan, she barely even knew we existed. 

She’s the one who pulls me out of the world of King Arthur and back into the real one- back into this dusty old classroom with my back against this hard wall. My phone buzzes, and I see that she’s sent me a text that reads:

Hey :) I didn’t see you at lunch today and   
I just wanted to check that you’re okay.  
Don’t forget that you have a meeting with  
the counselor in twenty minutes. I’ll  
walk with you if you want.  
xxxx

Well, I was trying to forget about that. I text her back, declining her offer and reassuring her that I’m fine. 

I must be getting better at lying, because she doesn’t press the issue.

It’s not until I’m back outside that I realize I have no idea where I’m supposed to go. They gave me the room number with a packet of information about the school’s counseling services in the summer when I registered, but I was so angry about being forced to go that I threw it away. 

I’m now seriously regretting that decision.

From what I can see, I have three choices: 1.) text Hazel and tell her I changed my mind, 2.) go to the office and ask somebody, or 3.) don’t go. I really, really don’t want to bring Hazel into this; I’ve kind of been avoiding her because she questions me nonstop about how I’m feeling. How do I tell her that I don’t know what the hell I’m feeling? And I can’t ditch, because at a meeting I had at the end of the summer with my dad and the principal, the principal warned me that if I didn’t go there would be “major consequences”. I don’t really know what that’s supposed to mean, but I’m already in enough trouble with the school as it is. Apparently, trying to kill yourself counts as a strike.

Our school’s punishment system goes by strikes. It’s pretty self-explanatory; three strikes and you’re out. Some minor things won’t get you a strike- texting in class, for example, will only get you a Saturday school. Other things can give you more than one; this kid last year got expelled for sexually assaulting some girl. I can’t say that I miss him. I already have two strikes: one for a fight I got in my freshman year and one for taking nearly a whole bottle of 50 mg Sertraline pills I was on for social anxiety. As if having my stomach pumped and spending weeks in a psychiatric ward weren’t enough. Now I’m walking on thin ice. If I want to stay at this school, which, in my opinion, is a much better alternative to the public high school, I have to see a counselor here twice a week and visit my psychiatrist once a month.

Joy.

I decide my best bet is to go to the office and ask someone. By the time I get there, according to my watch, I only have ten minutes left. I pace outside of the brick building for half of that time, sweating even though it’s late September. That’s California for you. I try to build up the confidence to go in, but each time I walk up to the door, I back away again. Fuck social anxiety. I always like to think of myself as some badass, who does and says what he wants. I may look it, or at least I think I do, given the way people cross the street when they see me coming. But in actuality, I’m still like a scared little kid. No matter how many times the school staff says that they’re here to help, I’m still scared, I still couldn’t even tell you what I’m scared of. Hands shaking, I approach the door one more time. As I reach out for the handle, the door opens from the other side and before I can do anything to stop it, it hits me right in this face. 

Fuck.

A kid steps out from behind the door saying, “Oh my god, are you okay? I’m so sorry-”

He’s holding his phone in his hand, and its screen is still lit, so I’m guessing he was texting while walking. I’m about to tell him off for it, but then I realize that he’s like, totally hot. He has these amazing blue eyes, shaggy blonde hair, and tanned skin. He’s tall and fit, and wearing cut-off denim shorts and a surf t-shirt. When I force myself to stop staring and meet his eyes, he’s staring at me with an amused smirk on his face.

“Are you checking me out?” 

Well, shit. I feel blush rising to my cheeks, but I cross my arms defiantly and try to sound tougher than I am. “Oh, get over yourself. And next time, watch where you’re going.” 

I attempt to walk around him, but he follows me and blocks my path. “Hey, I said I’m sorry, okay?” I glare at him and, unlike most people I’ve met, he doesn’t look away. People have told me that my glare is scary, even deadly; it’s even been known to make my dad nervous. But he doesn’t even flinch. He just keeps his blue eyes fixed on me. 

It starts to make me a little uncomfortable. “Uh, apology accepted? Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s somewhere I have to be.”

“Oh, right,” he says. He starts to move out of my way but then stops. “My name’s Will, by the way. Will Solace.”

“Oh,” I say, taken aback. “I’m Nico. Di Angelo.”

His smile fades from his face almost instantly. “Di Angelo? That’s- You’re Bianca’s sister.”

I freeze. I haven’t heard her name out loud in a long time. It’s always in my mind, and I know that Percy and Annabeth and Thalia and her other friends haven’t forgotten about her. But the subject always hangs over our heads, or lies between us like a loaded gun. Every one pities me for what happened to her, and they’re scared of how I’ll react if they mention her. I hate it. Even my dad finds himself trailing off when he accidentally says her name. At her funeral, everyone called her death a tragedy. Now people treat it like it’s just an awkward situation. Like when somebody farts in a classroom, and nobody wants to say anything about it. Okay, bad example. But long story short, I don’t hear my sister’s name often anymore.

“You knew her?” I say finally. 

“Yeah, we had Bio together our freshman year. She’s the only reason I passed that class,” he says, smiling sadly. “Shit- I’m- I guess I should say I’m sorry about- Sorry for your loss.”

“I- Uh- Thank you,” I sputter. God, I was trying to stay as composed as possible for this counseling session, but now that’s ruined. First he runs right into me, then he accuses me of checking him out, and then, to top it all off, brings up my dead sister. I don’t know if I’m embarrassed or sad or angry. Maybe all three.  
Before I can say anything else, he says, “Right, you have to go. Sorry about keeping you for so long. Uh- can I walk you somewhere?”

I almost say no, but then I realize that I’m completely lost and way too nervous to ask one of the office ladies where to go. They all smell like old lady perfume and mid-life crises, anyways. “Would you happen to know where Mr. Brunner’s office is?”

“Yeah, I actually just came from there!” He says, way too enthusiastically. I mean, what’s so great about being forced to bare your heart and soul for someone who’s only paid to care? 

He walks casually back to the door, holds it open for me, makes a wide hand gesture, and says, “after you”. As I enter the building, I’m enveloped in stale, cold air, and a fan sitting on the front desk blows my hair around. I follow Will past the front desk and along a hall with four different doors: three on the left and one on the right. We stop at the last one on the left, which is already open. Will, imitating a monotone female voice, says, “You have arrived. Destination on right,” just like the GPS in my dad’s car. I stare at him in disbelief, though when he shrugs his shoulders and smiles at me, I can’t help but laugh.   
His laugh is so cute. 

I am such an idiot.

A gruff voice from behind interrupts my train of thought. “If you’ll stop flirting with my other students, Mr. Solace.” 

I feel my face turn hotter than the sun. 

“Sorry, Mr. Brunner! He’s all yours, now,” Will says, obviously comfortable with the man. 

I turn to see who he’s talking to. I have to lower my eyes; he probably is taller than me, but he’s sitting in a wheelchair, and comes up to about my chest. He has bushy brown hair, a beard to go with it, and twinkling eyes. He has a good-natured face, and something about him makes me want to like him. I probably would, if we met under different circumstances. He’s smiling at Will, and shaking his head. Will smiles back, waves to him one last time, then to me, and then walks away. I hear him shout happily to someone else in the hall.

Once he’s gone, I resent him for leaving me here alone.

“Nico,” the man says somehow both warmly and roughly, like a soft-hearted lumberjack or something. “How are you?”

“Good,” I say quickly, quietly, and without thinking about it. There’s usually no reason to think about it; when people ask how you are, they don’t really want to know. They just want to be polite. Oh shit. Am I supposed to ask him how he’s doing? I don’t know how this works. “Uh, you?” I choke out. 

He raises his eyebrows at me, like he’s amused. I would say that my cheeks turn red, but I’m pretty sure they were already the color of a tomato. 

“I’m excellent,” he says. I think he senses that I’m uncomfortable and unsure of what to do next, so he says, “Let’s get to it then, shall we?”

I don’t respond.

“Can you tell me in your words why you’re here?”

“Uh,” I say, “because you told me to be. I don’t remember being given a choice.”

He laughs a good, hearty laugh. “Honest. I like it. You’re here today just so we can get to know each other before we start, well, getting to the deep stuff, as you might say.”

I want to say, you know, there’s a reason that stuff is buried deep. We bury the ugly things we know nobody else wants to look at. I don’t tell him that, though, of course. He calls me honest, but I don’t think he’d want to see me without a filter. 

“So, tell me about yourself.”

I stare at him blankly, and he stares back. Panic starts to rise like bile in my throat, panic that I thought I would be able to force down. How am I supposed to answer that? What am I supposed to say? I open my mouth to say something, anything, but no words come. My heartbeat just gets louder and heavier, so that I feel it pounding in my ears. I don’t know why I suddenly got so scared, but I’m scared, and I have to close my eyes and breathe. The way Bianca always taught me to do, when I was little and cried during thunder storms. 

I guess it’s lucky that this guy’s a psychologist, because he catches on quickly and draws my attention back to him. He grabs a file from the coffee table between us and opens it. “Your psychiatrist diagnosed you with Major Depressive Disorder, Social Anxiety Disorder, and General Anxiety Disorder.”  
All I can manage is a nod. Those are just words to me, words that are supposed to describe how I’m feeling but don’t go deeper than the surface.   
“You were on Sertraline for the anxiety before this summer, but you hadn’t been diagnosed as depressed before then. Now you’re on Prozac?”

Again, I only nod. 

“Tell me about the side effects.”

“Uh,” I begin, “just insomnia. And weight loss. I was nauseous at first, I guess.” 

It’s his turn to nod. “Those are all fairly common. How are your moods, then? How’s the anxiety?”

“Um. The same?”’

“As this summer?” He asks, wrinkles forming between his brow. “Are you still having suicidal thoughts?”

And there it is. The question I’ve been waiting for. I tell him no, not really. That’s what you have to say, unless you want them calling your parents or sticking you back in the hospital. In all honesty, I’m not really planning on killing myself at the moment. I just don’t know what else to do. I’m stuck in this in between place, where I’m just existing without really living. I don’t have a plan to slit my wrists tonight or anything, but I don’t have any other plans, either. I don’t know what I’m going to do with my life. I don’t know how I’m going to get through this year. Or even how I’m going to get through this week. 

Mr. Brunner presses my “not really” by asking, “What do you mean by that?”

I stare at him again, and for a moment the only sound is the clock ticking away the moments until I’m free again. It’s going awfully slowly. Eventually, it just gets so awkward that I tell him what I mean.

After I do, he strokes his beard thoughtfully, the way my dad does when he works, and says, “I think therein lies our problem. Hopelessness is, of course, a major symptom of both depression and anxiety. You’ve dealt with your illnesses for so long that you’ve gotten used to this. I think we need to work on getting back that hope.”

I want to tell him that he doesn’t know anything about me, but I can’t say that he’s wrong. I feel hopeless. But how does he know it’s not rightfully so?  
Instead, I nod, while trying to maintain eye contact.

He hesitates, tasting the words on his tongue, trying to decide which ones to keep in and which ones to share. Finally, he says, “I know this may come as a surprise to you, but I’ve had kids like you before. I know you think I could never possibly understand what’s going on in your brain. But if you want me to help you, you’re going to have talk. Don’t think I don’t know that scares the hell out of you. But you’re required to come to these meetings anyways, you might as well get some use out of them.” He pauses, then tells me that I’m free to go. At first I don’t quite believe my ears, but then he adds, “Next time, though, I won’t let you off so easily.”

Relieved, I stand up so quickly that I get dizzy. I walk to the door, then turn back to him when I reach it. “Uh, bye,” I say awkwardly.

“Good evening, Mr. di Angelo. Just think about what I said.”

I nod at him, then take the long way back to the dorm, thinking not of his words, or of the meeting at all, but of Will Solace.


End file.
